


Sugarcubes

by lexi_con



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brownie au, Keith fits into Shiro's hand, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Shiro think it is a dream, Size Difference, Sleep Sex, Somnophilia, Supernatural Elements, Vore, extreme size difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexi_con/pseuds/lexi_con
Summary: Shiro has always had this weird inkling that he isn't alone in his apartment. Luckily, it isn't a giant spider or ghost he's been sharing living space with.Sheithlentines prompt!





	Sugarcubes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaladicks_GeekMom13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaladicks_GeekMom13/gifts).



> This is an au I included in my Sheith month pompts (which I still gotta make more of, I'm the worst lol). Just like that entry this is consenusal, there is just poor communication from both parties that might not be everyones cup of tea.
> 
> This is my Sheithentines entry for @Geekmom2013 on twitter! I'm so sorry I am late, I was having a crisis over this, but you did say any AU! I really hope that you like it and that you will continue having a Sheithy year!

Shiro has always had this weird inkling that he isn't alone in his apartment. 

Sometimes he could have sworn he left trash on the table between the sofa and tv, but after falling asleep and waking up with a kink in his neck any remnants of junk food would be gone, the table spotless.

He had never cleaned his bathroom from more than the occasional drop of blood from when he shaved, but all his friends spoke of it as a thing of dread. Hell, he didn't even have to keep track of how long it had been since he changed his  _ sheets _ , somehow the door to his linen closet was always slightly ajar when his beddings had passed just over the acceptable length of time in between renewal. It was a friendly reminder that whoever shared his apartment had had enough of his sloppiness and wasn't going to change his sheets for him.

Shiro was, however strange it seemed, eternally grateful for this ghost, slash sentient being or whatever that was keeping his home in order, because he barely had time to do it himself. The days he managed to return home on time were usually spent looking over documents or, if he had been extra masochistic at the gym, spent in front of the tv until he fell asleep. 

Tonight however Shiro had been to a dinner party with the 200 most boring people he had ever met and he hadn’t felt so exhausted in a long time. He doesn't even care that he should hang up his very expensive, very exclusive suit jacket and just drags himself to his bedroom, collapsing on his back among the soft pillows he doesn't remember arranging in such an appealing manner. Shiro has just about enough consciousness left to imagine the lights going out before he falls asleep. 

He isn’t a heavy sleeper, usually, and his dreams are less pleasant than the average person, but when he feels, or dreams that he feels, a tugging around his neck his body doesn't immediately jerk him awake. Instead, he, in his dream, raises a hand and brings it to his jugular, settling over the little weight there, and then there’s a squeak that sounds mystically smothered.

He leaves it there, the sensation over his chest the only thing there; no screams, no broken metal or flashing lights, just a warm, safe weight over his collarbones. 

He thinks he’s fallen out of the dream when the thing under his hand moves, a small, insistent wiggling that makes his body shudder, and that is when Shiro realizes he can feel his toes, his legs, his pelvic, and every other part of his body being sunken down in soft covers and softer pillows. He’s probably awake, albeit barely. He hears grunts of extortion, and feels the fingers of his prosthetic moving without his command. Slowly, with his eyelids screaming at him to go back to sleep, Shiro opens his eyes to the soft lights of the cityscape through the window. It’s still night, and he has half the mind to let his body rest, but as the realization that there is  _ something _ between his hand and his body sinks in, Shiro’s breath stops. His brain immediately thinks it’s an animal of some sort, and he steels himself to come face to face with a rat the second he looks down. But as luck would have it, there is no rat, and Shiro is staring into dark, frightened eyes, eerily human like, but nowhere near the size of any eyes Shiro has ever seen. 

Under his hand, pressed against his chest, is a small…person. He refrains from calling it human, because in his experience humans’ torso do not fit inside another human’s palm. 

Maybe it’s a doll, maybe one of his co-workers played a prank on him, but then the doll blinks and takes a deep breath. A breath!

Shiro can only open his mouth a fraction before the doll does the same, turning away and seemingly struggling to get out from under the metal and plastic hand. Shiro doesn’t move, can’t make any rational thought except  _ what the fuck _ .

It’s a dream, it had to be. He just hadn't had any so vivid in a while that he must have forgotten the feeling of full immersion. Because as the little doll-person stops struggling, from lack of breath, Shiro sees how the little guy is  _ beautiful _ . 

Dark hair that is probably black falls to his shoulders, sticking to his forehead with sweat. A noble, thin face with high cheekbones and a pointy nose, but with the prettiest red cheeks Shiro had ever seen. He can’t see many details, but he does see that the little man is muscled, and Shiro wonders if he had been dreaming up his ideal man, albeit in a smaller scale. 

“Oh,” Shiro mumbles, the syllable barely more than a puff of air between his glued lips. The little person freezes, tense, before he looks up and stare at Shiro as if he was going to be eaten, like a rabbit caught in headlights. Shiro just smiled, because he wasn't going to hurt him, not someone so pretty and fragile looking. He always had a soft spot for the small and cute. 

“Who’re you?” Shiro mutters, still tired even in his dream. The little guy doesn't respond, turns his head away and instead of trying to get away, snuggles into the cup of Shiro’s hand, hiding. 

“‘m Shiro,” he says, figuring he could try and see if it was an interactive dream or no. 

He felt tiny fists bunch his shirt, and a small, pleasant voice mumbled, “I know.”

Shiro just smiled, “‘course...my dream n’all.”

“Yes, a dream,” the tiny human said, oddly hopeful, “there’s no brownies in reality.”

Shiro furrowed his brow, “yeah ther’re, ate some last week.”

“I-I mean there are no little people!” the little person insisted, which wasn’t that weird in a dream.

Still, Shiro felt slightly disappointed, “shame, you’re real pretty.”

Tiny, but still large, eyes turned to him once more, and he wondered if his hand was malfunctioning when he felt a shudder running under his fingers. Pert lips had fallen open in a soft gasp and that was a look that fit him.

“D-do you mean that?” he asked, cheeks darkening with a blush.

“Yeah, y’re like…so pretty,” wow, dream Shiro was so eloquent, yawning in the middle and all.

The little body beneath his hand shivered again, and small nails dug into his chest when the small man reaffirmed his grip on the expensive cotton of Shiro’s shirt. Oh, maybe he liked being praised? 

“Y’ fit so nicely in m’ han’,” Shiro tried, and true, the little man quivered once more, burying his face against the shirt he was laying on. Carefully, Shiro trailed his thumb up and down the man’s arm, careful to not use more than the lightest of touches, “s’ cute, s’ adorable.”

A small, suppressed mewl sounded from the small man as he moved, and Shiro’s heart sped up when he felt a little poke against his chest.

“You’re hard?” he asked, seeing how the small man stiffened, immediately trying to pull away again. Strange, how he couldn’t lift Shiro’s hand; it seemed like he should be able to. But then again Shiro was glad for it, because he didn't want the small guy to leave. “It’s ok,” Shiro smiled, pressing a little to make the other press against him again, “you like gettin’ praised?” 

A defiant, scandalized look was thrown his way and Shiro shivered, feeling his own cock stirr. Or at least, his dream cock. There was something appealing with this small man, aside from his looks. The way he fit into Shiro’s hand felt  _ nice _ , and he wanted to make those eyes wet with tears of pleasure. 

“Oh not that?” Shiro felt his mouth tug up in a devious smile, “then maybe...you’re a bad boy who doesn’t deserve to get praised?” 

The man’s eyes widened before he looked away, half-heartedly trying to wiggle free, but Shiro still held him tight.

“I mean, you came into my room, climbed on top of me...what do I know, maybe you were  _ molesting _ me?” Shiro watched in satisfaction how the little man turned into his chest again, hiding his face from view, but his body shivered once more, “is that what you wanted to do? Get these clothes off me and touch?”

The little man shook his head but Shiro presses, “I bet you like it, seeing me naked. I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’re here. Maybe you look at me in the shower, when I wash. When I jerk o—

“P-please stop it…” Shiro stops himself, hearing the low plea. The small man isn’t looking at him, but he’s quivering, and not in the nice way that Shiro wants him too, “I-I’m not bad…”

Oh, that actually broke Shiro’s heart a little and he, without thinking, brings his other hand up to gently pet at the soft hair adorning the other’s head. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Sweetheart?” the little man squeaked, and Shiro’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, I don’t know your name, so do you mind if I call you that?” Shiro carefully tipped the small man’s head back, making him look up, “unless you got a name you’d rather I use.”

The small man purses his lips in thought, before he takes a steadying breath, “Keith.”

“Keith, it’s nice,” Shiro smiles again when he feels a shiver, a good one, this time.

“So Keith,” Shiro muses as he restart his stroking, this time letting his human hand trail down Keith’s neck and shoulder, pushing the worn shirt he wears out of the way to reveal more skin, “do you like it when I’m nice to you?”

Keith has closed his eyes, leaning his head to give Shiro more skin to touch and he lets out a pleased sigh, “yes…”

“Do you want me to be even nicer?” Shiro asks and carefully pulls at Keith to make him lay on his side so Shiro can run his hand down the small man’s chest. Keith whispers a small  _ yes _ and bites his lip as Shiro’s finger goes further and further down, until he feels a little bulge, a small, cute cock standing at attention under his finger. Keith moans as Shiro applies pressure, and the open mouthed expression of bliss makes Shiro’s cock stir as well. Gods, he’s beautiful, and Shiro presses a little more to see the man cry out in pleasure, a noise that goes straight to Shiro’s dick and he’s growing hard faster than ever. 

“Show yourself to me, sweetheart, show me how good you feel,” Shiro prompts and Keith only hesitates for a moment before he lift his shirt, revealing long, pale legs and a cute little dick that is driping with precome. Shiro pokes at the head, and Keith writhes, legs rubbing together in an attempt to stave the want. Though he doesn’t need to, because Shiro is a man of giving, so he presses harder, playing with the head of Keith’s dick as Keith twitches and mewls. 

“S-shiro!” Keith cries, hips stuttering before Shiro feels a small spurt against his finger and he realize that Keith came, the fluid coating his finger. 

Out of curiosity, Shiro took a taste, and he was pleasantly surprised at the sweetness. Damn, cute and sweet; Shiro could just eat him right up. 

Actually.

Why not.

Keith laid panting on his chest, but Shiro didn’t wait for him to regain all his composure before he grabbed the man around the waist and lifted him.

Keith let out a noise of startled confusion, but didn’t fight as Shiro lifted him, still blissed out from his orgasm. An orgasm Shiro wanted to taste more of. 

Keith hung limply over Shiros fingers at first, panting and still coming down from his high, until he realized just  _ where _ Shiro was putting him. Shiro spread Keith’s legs for him, making him straddle Shiro’s face as he opened his lips, tongue darting out to taste.

Keith made a loud, shocked noise, arms hanging onto Shiro’s thumb for dear life as his limp cock was flicked back and forth by Shiro’s tongue. Shiro could see intimately close how Keith was sweating, panting and fighting to keep his sanity through the sucking and licking. His legs were spread over Shiro’s face, occasionally tensing and kicking before Shiro felt another burst of sweetness.

The taste was addictive, Shiro couldn’t get enough of it. Keith was a wrecked mess above him, face blotchy and red from his intense fidgeting and multiple orgasms. Only when he slumped completely in Shiro’s hand did Shiro’s tongue calm, massaging the small, puckered hole he could feel and leaving Keith’s cock alone. The little man was still moaning, but his face was so blissed out Shiro had his doubts he was actually conscious. With graciousness he considered a  _ huge _ sacrifice, Shiro lifted the small man up from his face, seeing how his pelvic and thighs were absolutely drenched in saliva. Which reminded Shiro, his own cock was still hard. 

If this was a dream, why not make use of the situation? 

Shiro set the small man down, laying still and breathing deeply where he was put. Groaning, Shiro got up on his knees, pulling his pants and underwear down to take his erection in hand. He pressed the head of his cock between Keith’s legs and was thoroughly annoyed when his dreamscape didn't suddenly shift so that Keith would be large enough to accommodate him. Keith’s shoulders were barely wider than Shiro’s cock, and he lamented quietly over how he couldn’t fuck the gorgeous man, laying there like a feast only half devoured.

Not that sleeping people were ok to fuck either way, but this was a dream so what did it matter?

Shiro takes himself in hand, the head of his cock leaking precum deliciously over Keith’s stomach. He jerks his hand hard and fast, imagining it would be like how Keith would feel wrapped around him, imagining how Keith’s beautiful face would change into a pleasured expression as Shiro made him feel  _ everything _ .

Maybe it is the vision of the small man, or the exhaustion still latched onto his entire body that makes it so quick—Shiro comes with a unabashed groan, thick, white cum covering Keith’s torso and face. Shiro mewled in satisfaction; something like possessiveness filtering out in his blood along with the pleasure. He wanted this beautiful creature to himself, even after he awoke from this dream.

Shiro uses the covers to wipe the cum off of Keith's face, even if it is a poor effort before he collapses down on the bed again. He cradles the small, half naked man to his chest, hoping through sleep addled rationality that he will be there when Shiro actually wakes up in the morning.

 

***

 

The light hitting off the wall is what wakes Shiro the next morning. He grumbles, because he can feel his tie pressing uncomfortably against his throat, and his hands lay awkwardly on his chest. It isn't the first time he passed out with his clothes on, but it has been a long time since he felt so much left over melatonin trying to drag him under the throes of sleep again. However, a quick glance at the clock and Shiro groans when he realize it is already past 9, late morning by his standards.

Luckily today was a home day, so he could spend a few more minutes dozing off if he wanted to. He is about to roll over to do just that when he registers that he is  _ holding _ something.

He glances down towards his cupped hands and see black hair and doll like features cradled by his hands, peacefully sleeping against his chest. 

Holy shit, was he still dreaming?

Shiro sits up, using only his abdominal muscles in order to keep his hands still against him to not startle the man awake. 

“What the fuck…” Shiro lets out in a breath, watching in frozen bewilderment how the small man— _ Keith _ , if his memory serves him right—starts to wake up, blinking blearily and nuzzling into Shiro’s shirt to latch onto dreamland for a bit longer. Except he, just like Shiro, is probably being slapped right on the adrenaline pump by the night’s happening’s and is instantly awake.

It’s deja vu when Shiro sees purple eyes stare into his own, except that he can actually recall that this  _ has _ happened before, no doubt about it.

“Oh, fuck,” Keith mumbles as he stares up at Shiro.

“Holy shit,” Shiro agrees, “you're real.”

Keith squirms and tries to get out of Shiro's grip, but it proves futile, just like last night, “fucking  _ fuck _ .”

The struggle registers against Shiro's chest, but his arm doesn't budge, even though Keith should have strength enough to get himself free, from the look of him. Though Shiro has  _ zero _ experience with little people, so he honestly shouldn't judge a book by its cover. 

Little people.

Dumbfounded all over again, Shiro has to pinch his leg to try and wake himself from this dream he was obviously having. But even when he pinched the inner side of his tight with vicious force, a small, perfectly sculpted man was still cradled against his chest. By his hand. 

He's real. Apparently.

“How…” Shiro starts when Keith stops struggling, panting from exhaustion, “what  _ are _ you?”

Keith groans and tries to hide away, doing a horrible job at it. He covers his face in his tiny little hands and groans, “you weren't supposed to find out.”

“You're really not helping me understand the situation here,” Shiro pouts at the little man and his crypticness. 

“You don't need to!” the little man hisses and glares up, only to quickly turn away again after their eyes met, “just let me go and you'll never see me again. Forget you ever even saw me.”

“That would be tragic. You're beautiful,” his honesty earns him a puzzled look; purple eyes regarding him in disbelief and cheeks darkening with a flush. Keith sputters moments after, regaining his ability to argue.

“Y-you just haven't seen any fae before! I'm nothing special,” Keith deflects, once more trying to force his way out between Shiro's fingers.

Shiro has to disagree though, because if memory and his eyes  serves him right, Keith is equivalent to a tall glass of water, both height and thirst-wise. While he might look cute right now, with all the struggling and determined frown, last night he had been so beautiful that part almost convinced Shiro more of the fact it was a dream than Keith's small stature did. As beautiful people as him shouldn't exist, but here they were, and Shiro was looking down at what must be the closest to physical perfection as the world was ever going to come. 

“But  _ you _ are beautiful, regardless,” Shiro says and wonders if he imagined the small whimper he thought he heard from Keith.

Once more, Keith slumps in Shiro's hand, unable to break free. “Just let me go, I can't stay here now that you've seen me,” he says and there's a hint of disappointment in his voice. 

“What? Why?” Shiro's mechanic hand twitches, squeezing Keith just a little.

Keith lets out a frustrated groan, “it's the law! Now let me go!” 

“You're not making much sense there buddy. I don't know of any law that makes you leave just because I've seen you,” as he says it, realization dawns on Shiro, “wait, you're the one who has been cleaning my apartment for me.”

“Lucky for you I do, you're a slob,” Keith shoots back, and realizes how it sounded and clamps his mouth shut. Shiro just smiles though, because his secretary and friends tell him the same thing.

“Exactly, I'm actually happy to finally have someone to thank for it,” Shiro says and loosens his hold a little, “even though I'm a bit sad to find it wasn't any psychic powers that had manifested in me.”

Keith rolled his eyes and starts wiggling out of Shiro's grasp, actually getting somewhere until his pert ass gets stuck between Shiro's fingers and his chest, “it is fairy law that we can't be seen by humans. If we are we have to leave.”

“That doesn't seem fair. Don't you live here?” Shiro figured that keeping the place clean for him was more than enough payment.

“Longer than you have, anyway,” Keith grumbles and tries to get unstuck but only manages to have the cloth covering his form to ride up so his skin is directly rubbing against Shiro's pinky. His finger is blessed, it seems.

“If I don't tell anyone, can't you stay here?” Shiro asks, without ulterior motives, of course. Just seems like poor taste to kick out his cute little help just because he laid eyes on his gorgeous features.

Keith huffs again, “humans lie all the time, I can't trust you.”

“After living together for 2 years don't you know me pretty well? I don't lie,” Shiro tries. He aims to always be honest at least, ”besides, even if I did tell anyone they’d just force me to take my overdue vacation.”

Keith goes still, purple eyes searching Shiro's face for any trace of ill will—probably—and Shiro tries to make himself as disarming as possible. The little man lets out a low grumble that Shiro can't hear before looking away, but he thinks he sees Keith's cheeks reddening. 

“I-I guess I can stay a while longer...until I figure out where to go next, anyway,” Keith mutters, and Shiro takes it as a victory.

“Sure, that sounds good,” Shiro says and lifts his hand from his chest, the small fairy, or fairy-folk might be more accurate, still in his cupped fingers. Keith squeaks and clings to Shiro's thumb like a lifeline as the human stands and heads out of the room.

“L-let me down!” he insists, and Shiro does, as soon as he is inside the kitchen and the counter is in reach. 

“Sorry, I just thought you might want to eat something,” Shiro offers and opens the fridge. Not a lot is in there, but yoghurt and grain is as good a breakfast as any, “what would you like?”

“Uh…” Keith sits on the counter, looking down on himself and grimacing, “I think I need to wash off before anything.”

Shiro almost drops the bowl he was getting out the cupboard. Oh yeah.

He came all over Keith. While he was unconscious.

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers before turning around, “yes, of course—I-I, wait...um, hang on—”

He stumbles out the kitchen, hurrying to the bathroom and filling the porcelain sink. The tub will be far too big for Keith, so instead he hurries to get the temperature right, grabbing all products from his actual bath that might help Keith wash off efficiently. He is so busy placing all the bottles he completely misses that Keith has appeared in the door opening when he turns around, and almost gets a heart attack.

“What are you doing?” Keith cocks his head, and oh god, Shiro thinks he can actually see the dried cum on the small man's frame.

“I-I drew you a bath,” he says dumbly, and Keith frowns at the idea.

“ _ You _ …drew  _ me _ a bath?” he asks, bewildered.

Shiro starts sweating, “yes? Is that bad form in fairy society?”

Keith shakes his head, but his cheeks do grow a little red, “no. It's just...no one's ever done something like that for me.”

“It's my fault you're dirty, it isn't more than right that I make sure you can clean up,” Shiro says and feels his face heat at the same time as the blush spreads from Keith's cheeks to his ears and neck.

Without a word, Keith deftly climbs on top of the toilet before jumping to the sink, dipping his toe into the water. He seems sceptical, as if the water is somehow treacherous, but he at least sits down at the edge and lets his feet sink in.

It is only when Shiro notices the uncertain glance in his direction and the way Keith tugs at the cloth he wears as a shirt (or is it a tunic? It doesn't look like enough to be a dress) that he realizes  _ the water _ isn't what makes Keith uncomfortable.

“Oh, excuse me, I'll leave you to it, then,” he quickly excuses himself after assuring Keith that he could use any of the shampoos and what-not's he had in his bathroom. 

As Shiro waits, more and more of the night before comes back to him, and he’s reminded that what he did was  _ awful _ , sleep addled or not. Hadn’t he basically molested Keith? No matter what he tries to say as a justification that is in no way ok. No wonder Keith wanted to leave.

It feels like a small eternity as he fuzzes around and prepares much more breakfast than usual. Boiling eggs, brewing ten cups of coffee, preparing the toaster, boiling teawater, taking out bot jam and peanut butter. Shiro doesn’t even like the peanut butter-jelly combo.

So there he sits, mulling over if there’s a fairy police he can contact to have himself incarcerated and judged for falling victim to his overly horny and inconsiderate instincts. He’s staring down in his tea, eyes stuck on the dried leaves that escaped his strainer, stuck in a downward spiral he only deserves. 

He has probably entered the fifth ring of hell on his way down into inferno when he catches sight of small feet sticking out from a towel that’s been wrapped around a tiny body. Shiro swallows and raises his head from where it had been hanging between his hands, slightly surprised to see Keith stand at the edge of the table, wrapped in a fresh hand towel; even that looks big on him though. 

“Keith,” Shiro says it breathlessly and Keith tilts his head in question. The guilt sits heavy in the pit of Shiro’s stomach, but he is also proud enough that humility doesn’t come naturally to him either. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, but he lets his willpower open his mouth and work his vocal cords, “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“For what?” Keith seems genuinely perplexed, brows knotted in wonder. 

“I did something awful to you last night. I thought it was a dream and I took advantage of you,” Shiro clenches his hands, “I forced you to stay when you asked me to let go and then I…I jerked off and came all over you.”

Keith’s jaw drops in surprise, but he doesn’t look as disgusted or angry as Shiro had feared. They just stare at each other after that, neither sure what to do with this situation. Or at least, Keith seem unsure. 

“I uh--I understand if you’d want to leave. I have no right to hold you here,” Shiro says in the end, because he realizes that part of his insistence that Keith should stay was made from a selfish desire to keep him there. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Keith is so blunt, so matter of fact Shiro is taken aback. 

“You...don’t?” Shiro leans in, intrigued, hopeful.

Keith bites his lip, bringing the towel tighter around him before he continues, “I-I didn’t actually mind what you did.”

Shiro’s eyes widen like saucers and this time it’s his mouth that falls open (probably looking a lot more stupid than Keith did). 

“Um, I-I think you’re pretty...neat,” Keith brings the towel up to hide his face, but Shiro can still see the way his pointy ears turn pink, voice quiet and muffled as he continues, “I liked it.”

Blinking, Shiro stares in disbelief. Keith...liked it. Keith liked having Shiro touch his body and eat his sweet ass and cum all over him. “Oh.”

His body is saying hell of a lot more than that, but he’s having a hard time sorting through the onslaught of revelation, incredulity and horny motherfucking butterflies tickling in the pit of his stomach. 

Then, from another stomach, there’s a squeak like sounds and Keith whimpers in embarrassment.

“Was that…” Shiro eloquence gains a level, but it doesn’t really take him far, so Keith fills in the gap.

“I’m a little hungry,” he says, looking up over the towel edge and to the jam that’s on the table. His eyes have taken on a new kind of sheen, reminding Shiro of a little kid on Christmas morning.

“You want some?” Shiro doesn’t wait for a response before he reaches over and twists the lid off the jar, “with bread?”

Keith nods enthusiastically, “please!”

“Here you go,” Shiro sets the jar and a piece of bread in front of Keith, and is about to take a knife to spread the jam but Keith jumps to action at once and tears a piece of bread and dips it right into the jam. He stuffs his face hastily, humming happily as he eats more and more. It’s an endearing sight; Keith seemed rather calm and collected, but right now he’s overjoyed to the point of ignoring the mess he makes all over his hands and face. 

“You really like jam, huh?” Shiro smiles and takes a piece of bread for himself and grabs the peanut butter.

“I can’t open containers sealed by humans, so I don’t get to eat it a lot,” Keith explains around a mouthful, not stopping other than to suck the sticky off his fingers, an action Shiro observes with interest before berating himself that no, they are eating  _ breakfast _ , Keith is not there for his viewing pleasure.

“Well, now that I know you’re here, you can just ask me if you want to have some,” Shiro assures, but then backtracks, “if you still want to live here, with me, that is.”

That makes Keith stop, swallowing what he has in his mouth before saying; “if I don’t, you’ll be living in a trash heap by next week.”

Shiro smiles, that’s a good a reason as any.

“Well, we kind of got started at the wrong end, so let me reintroduce myself,” Shiro says and reaches out his pinky, “I’m Takashi Shirogane, your roommate that’s paying the rent.”

Keith stares at Shiro’s finger for a moment before he hooks his arm around it, and Shiro’s chest busts at the cute misunderstanding, “I’m Keith, your roommate that saves you money that you would need for a maid.” 

That’s a start, and Shiro hopes he’d get to the end they’d been the night before, but going the correct route, this time.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is all gonna lead to an awkward period of PINING even tho they already did the dirties, but neither of them is brave enough to take that step without being intoxicated by SOMETHING.
> 
> I hope you liked it! Comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
